The Savage Sword of Duncan
by KSherwood
Summary: This story pays homage to the heroic fantasy genre-in particular the works of Robert E. Howard, the creator of Conan.  Chris turns the campers loose in a maze full of traps and dangerous creatures that heroes like Conan have fought.  Who will survive!


The Savage Sword of Duncan

By

KSherwood and Brother

Vultures circled over the sun-baked earth, watching the two men in the desert below. One man was crucified on a giant cross, and the other sat on horseback. He was a western barbarian with black hair and volcanic blue eyes.

He spoke to the crucified man. "Seven months ago, Constantius, I hung on the cross, and you sat here."

Constantius strained painfully. A vulture's shadow gave him momentary relief from the sun.

"Ha!" Conan of Cimmeria laughed. "You'll be dead before nightfall. You civilized men are more fit to inflict torture than to endure it." He looked up at the sky. "And so, Falcon, I leave you to the company of another bird."

Conan rode away, and the vulture swooped down at Constantius. He screamed in agony and horror, trying to escape the bird's talons.

The closing credits rolled, and the contestants of Total Drama Action breathed a collective sigh of relief. Owen and DJ cowered under their seats. Gwen and Trent were clinging to each other; Duncan, Heather and Courtney failed miserably at trying to pretend that the intense movie hadn't bothered them. Harold cowered behind LeShawna. Geoff waved a tentative hand over Bridgette's eyes, but she seemed to be in a state of shock. Chris McLean, the host of the show, swaggered over to them, smiling evilly.

"Awesome movie, huh?" Chris laughed. "I know you dig the old ultra violence."

"Not funny, Chris," Gwen said.

"Why'd you show us this?" Heather asked.

"You'll find out tomorrow." Chris' sadistic smile widened. "Sweet dreams, kids."

The following morning no one had much energy. All of the contestants had dark circles under their eyes, and Geoff, Bridgette, and DJ were absent.

"You look terrible," Gwen told Trent.

"I feel terrible." Trent shuddered. "All I could think about was that cross. I have a backache."

"Me, too. I'd kill for some aspirin right now."

"And some decent orange juice," Duncan put in, glaring at his glass, wondering how Chef Hatchet could mess up something like store-bought OJ.

Gwen shuddered. "That was the scariest movie I've ever seen, even scarier than Bloodbath II."

"Oh yeah," Duncan agreed. "Remember when Conan killed the vulture with his teeth?"

They flinched.

Trent swallowed his juice, grimaced and asked, "I know Chris is a sadist, but why'd he show us that movie?"

A war trumpet sounded behind him, and Trent fell off his chair. Chris sauntered over to him, dressed like Aragorn from _LOTR_, and behind him was Chef Hatchet, wearing dark purple robes, an elaborate headdress with a golden cobra on it, and a bronze snake ring.

"I'm glad you asked," Chris boomed. "Welcome to today's heroic fantasy challenge!"

"What?" Everyone asked.

"Yes, today's challenge is an homage to the greats of Fantasy, like Lord of the Rings and Conan the Barbarian. Now, if you'll come with us, we're off to Part One."

LeShawna looked around. "Wait a minute. Where are Geoff, Bridgette and DJ?"

They were, in fact, in the infirmary. Bridgette and DJ were still in shock, and Geoff was playing nursemaid as all the interns had been eaten in setting up the challenge.

"Couldn't handle it," Chef said.

The contestants exchanged nervous looks and followed the two men to the stage, which was set up to look like a fashion runway. On the ground around it was a judges' table, a sewing machine for each teenager, bolts of fabric, and a pile of junk.

"What every fantasy character needs is a good outfit," Chris explained. "For the first part of today's challenge you get to make a costume for part two out of all this crap here. You've got three hours." He made a big show of checking his watch. "GO!"

Everyone scattered around looking for something suitable. Chris and Chef disappeared to eat a real breakfast at the secret production crew area. Just before three hours were up they returned to the judges' table and waited for the show to start.

Duncan was first up. He was dressed in rather too authentic looking wolf skin, a scale-mail corselet and a horned helmet. At his belt hung a handsome broadsword and hand axe.

"Very nice," Chris said. "You get eight points."

Courtney followed Duncan. She had made a pirate costume.

"Six."

"What?" Courtney demanded.

"Yeah," Chris said. "No weapons."

"Who cares about weapons? Did anyone else do the research necessary to accurately present a-"

Chris signaled for the camera crew to cut the sound until she finished ranting and raving. After Courtney stopped yelling the sound came back on.

"Moving right along," Chris said as Trent walked down the runway.

Trent was dressed like the Puritan swordsman, Solomon Kane. He had on a black slouch hat, buckle shoes, a black cloak, and a green sash knotted around his waist. Tucked into the sash were two flintlock pistols, and he carried a rapier.

Duncan laughed mockingly. "Hey, pilgrim; Plymouth Rock is down south!"

Trent drew both pistols and shot the horns off of Duncan's helmet.

"Actually, I kinda deserved that," Duncan admitted on the Confession Cam, surveying the ruined headgear.

"Where did he get flintlocks?" Chris asked Chef. "Those weren't in the budget, were they?"

Chef shrugged.

"Okay, whatever, nine points."

Gwen marched down the runway after Trent dressed as Elric of Melniboné. She had somehow made her hair white, and was wearing her red contacts that were left over from the vampire challenge. She was wearing black and carried an evil-looking sword. It hummed and pointed itself at Chris, who squeaked and hid behind Chef. Chef didn't look all that happy either.

"Stormbringer," Gwen said, also looking worried.

"Scary," Chris said. "Nine points…next!"

Courtney rolled her eyes.

Harold was after Gwen dressed as Zorro. The effect, however, was somewhat spoiled by his huge Clark Kent glasses and stick-like physique.

"Oh great, the Mark of Dorko," Duncan teased.

"And what are you…Dimman the Barbarian?" Harold shot back.

Duncan brandished his broadsword, and Harold drew a rapier.

Chris held out his arms like a ref at a boxing match. "Hold it, save the bloodletting for later. Harold, you get six points."

LeShawna was after Harold, dressed as a bandit. She was awarded seven points.

Owen waddled out after her, dressed in his usual Canada T-shirt and blue shorts, but his feet were bare.

"What are you supposed to be?" Chris asked, unimpressed.

"I'm a hobbit," Owen chirped, "as you should know."

He held up his left foot, revealing that it was covered with thick blond hair.

"Impressive," Chef said, stroking his chin. "Where'd ya get the hair?"

"Right here." Owen turned around; there was a huge chunk of hair missing from the back of his head. "All natural."

Chris and Chef exchanged looks that said "sad" before Chris gave him seven points.

Lindsay strutted out after Owen, dressed as a Tolkien elf. She posed and primped like she was a model at a fashion shoot with her trademark music playing in the background.

"Okay, enough with the eye-candy," Chris yelled after a few minutes. "Eight for you."

Smiling, Lindsay exited the stage. Courtney was waiting for her, looking sour.

"You couldn't resist pimping, could you?" She asked, irritably.

Lindsay looked horrified. "Pimpling! Am I breaking out? Where's my mirror?"

As she searched frantically, Heather came out on stage dressed like an oracle. She was given six points.

"That means we've got a tie for first place," Chris announced, taking Heather's place on the stage. "And since Gwen's sword tried to kill me, I'm going to up Trent's score by half a point and call him the winner!"

Duncan slapped Trent on the back. Gwen forced Stormbringer back into its scabbard.

Chris gave the sword a nervous look before continuing. "Now on to Part 2: your challenge is to navigate through this booby-trapped, heh, monster-infested dungeon, controlled by the arch wizard, who'll be played by none other than Chef, here. Which, let's face it, isn't much of a stretch."

Chef smirked and held up his hand. A nimbus of fire surrounded it, and Chris flinched.

"Yeah…not much of a stretch. Trent, you get a map. Originally, you were gonna get a gun, but I see you've got that covered."

Trent blew smoke from his flintlocks without smiling.

"Here's the door," Chris said. "Now go!"

The contestants raced inside. Lindsay ducked into a dimly lit chamber with a huge bunch of bananas hanging from the ceiling.

"Yummers!" She exclaimed.

She jumped up, grabbed one, peeled it, and dropped the peel carelessly on the ground. It landed with a soft "thump" and something grunted. Lindsay slowly turned around to face a huge gray ape as he stepped out of the shadows. She squeaked in terror.

Owen found a brightly lit chamber that had a table laden with food. His eyes got huge; he ran inside and began to stuff himself.

After a second he stopped, chewed uncertainly for a second, then spat out what he had.

"Wax," he exclaimed in disappointment.

He looked into the adjoining room, which was almost completely dark.

"Nothing in there but that ugly statue," he said.

The statue was a Fell-beast, its wings folded. Suddenly it awoke. Owen screamed, and the Fell-beast chased him all around the dungeon. A weird call halted it, and Owen kept running.

The caller was the Witch-King, who climbed onto his mount and flew away.

Still screaming, Owen ran into Chris and Chef's camera room.

"Dude, you're safe," Chris said, sounding annoyed. "Stop screaming."

"M-m-monster…Witch-King…aah!" Owen babbled.

"Witch-King?" Chris turned to Chef. "That wasn't in the budget either, right?"

Chef shrugged again.

"Well, anyway Owen," Chris continued. "Since it's obvious that you're too scared, you can just stay here and watch the show."

Chef peered into his crystal ball, which showed Harold and LeShawna.

"Fear not, my luscious LeShawna," Harold said, brandishing his sword. "For you have the Great Heraldo to protect you."

"I'm not worried, baby," LeShawna replied.

Before "the Great Heraldo" could say anything else, a voice reciting a melancholy poem reached their ears, and they clung to each other looking terrified, until they saw it was only Trent.

"'_Mine eyes have looked on sorcery_

_in dark and naked lands,_

_Horror born of the jungle gloom_

_and death on the pathless lands._

_And I have known a deathless queen in a city old as Death,_

_Where towering pyramids of skulls her glory witnesseth._

_Her kiss was like an adder's fang, with the sweetness Lilith had,_

_And her red-eyed vassals howled for blood in that City of the Mad,'"_

Trent quoted.

Harold went on the Confession Cam. "Trent thinks he's so cool, but did he spend two whole summers at Swordsman Steve's Dueling Camp? Allow me to demonstrate."

He made a few wild swipes with his rapier and stabbed the cameraman. "Oops! Sorry, man. Medic!"

LeShawna glared at Trent, hands on her ample hips. "Who're you playing at?"

"Solomon Kane," Trent answered, and got blank looks from both Harold and LeShawna. "Puritan swordsman… redresser of wrongs?" Still nothing from Harold or LeShawna. "Okay then."

He drew his sword.

Harold also drew his sword and made more wild swipes. "Have at thee, knave!"

They dueled. Trent showed incredible skill with the rapier, even though before that day he had never even touched one. Harold was backed up against the wall, with Trent's sword against his trembling Adam's apple.

"'Enough,'" Trent said. "'This is a foul deed; let it be done quickly!'"

He sliced off Harold's bangs. Embarrassed, Harold fled to the chamber across the hall. There was a loud explosion, and he staggered back to Trent and LeShawna, covered in powder-burns.

Harold coughed. "Dragon…."

He collapsed in a heap. LeShawna picked him up like a sack of flour and started to carry him off.

"LeShawna," Harold said, timidly.

"Yes, baby?" She asked.

"My back is Ouchy."

There was a nasty cracking sound as she broke him over her knee. Trent flinched.

"Better?" LeShawna asked Harold, who whimpered affirmatively.

Gwen screamed as Stormbringer dragged her into the room with Trent.

"Help! Help!" She wailed.

Trent drew his flintlocks and shot it out of her hand. The evil blade skittered to the other side of the chamber, humming evilly. He stabbed it with his own sword, and then after it moved again, he grabbed a handy stick and frantically clubbed it until Stormbringer was still.

"Is it dead?" Gwen asked, wiping her brow.

"I think so," Trent said.

"How'd you do that?"

"No idea, but I feel great!"

On that note, Trent whirled around and scratched a "T" into the camera lens with his rapier.

After a commercial break, Chris announced that Harold was out of the competition for the day due to dragon-sustained injuries.

"But let's see what the other competitors are up to." Chris was completely unworried.

Courtney walked into a chamber that had a long sword stuck into the floor. She grabbed it and tried to pry it loose.

"Let's just see about "no weapons,' Chris," she said to herself.

Unfortunately, the sword triggered a trapdoor, and she fell into an even deeper, darker dungeon.

"Great," she muttered, dusting off her behind. "All that's missing now is some giant monster."

In retrospect, she should not have said that. The mouth of a giant skull opened up, and something huge slithered out. Courtney screamed.

Meanwhile, Heather had come face to face with a large wooden door. She cautiously opened it and was greeted by eight glittering red orbs.

"Rubies," She greedily exclaimed.

Two of the "rubies" blinked out, and then reappeared.

"Wait a minute," Heather said, her eyes getting wide. "Those can't be rubies, so they must be…EYES!"

She screamed, turned on her heel and ran as a spider the size of a boar scuttled after her, clicking its fangs menacingly. Chris, who had been napping in his chair, jerked awake and turned on the PA, looking very worried.

"Don't scream," he yelled at Heather. "That sounds like their mating call."

Heather started to sob, open-mouthed.

"Oh crap! Don't cry whatever you do! That's even worse."

She slapped her hands over her mouth and ducked into a closet. The spider paused in front of the door and knocked hopefully. When Heather didn't respond he spun a heart-shaped web and knocked again. There was still no reply, so, looking somewhat dejected, the spider went back to its room, shutting the door behind it.

"Is he gone?" Heather timidly asked.

Chris laughed. "Ooh, yeah. You rejected him…_with scorn_."

Heather went on the Confession Cam, holding herself and shaking, too upset to say a word.

Chris was just taking a sip of a martini (one of Chef's specialties) when Lindsay yelled "hello" from the entrance of the dungeons. She was on the shoulders of the huge gray ape she had woken up before.

"Meet my new boyfriend," she tweeted.

Chris spat out his mouthful of martini. Chef, looking disgusted, wiped off his face.

"You _do_ know that that's a man-eating gray ape, don't you?" Chris asked.

"Oh." Lindsay looked worried then she addressed the ape. "Let's just be friends, 'K?"

The ape raised and lowered one shoulder, set her down, patted her on the head, and lumbered off into the darkness of the dungeons.

"Okay," Chris said. "That was the scariest thing I've ever seen."

"What happened to Gwen and Trent?" Owen wanted to know.

"Chef?"

Chef peered into his crystal ball. Gwen and Trent were on the floor of the room where he'd dueled Harold, making out. Trent had shed much of his Solomon Kane outfit, but Gwen was still in full Elric costume, and Trent was getting the white stuff from her hair all over his face.

"Hey, I like this channel," Chef said.

As if he'd heard them, and without letting up kissing and being kissed, Trent pulled out a flintlock, and shot the camera. Bang! They had privacy.

Chef Hatchet clicked his tongue. "Boy's kind of hard on the cameras today."

"Yeah…I'm not paying for those," Chris looked around for an unoccupied person. "Someone go let them out."

A minute later Gwen and Trent reappeared, and Duncan soon followed.

"Duncan my man," Chris smiled. "How was it?"

"Not bad," Duncan said, "except for that saber-toothed tiger that tried to devour me."

"Well, as you're the sole remaining contestant, it looks as if you're today's winner. The prize is a six-pack of root beer. What can I say? Legal said I can't give a sixteen-year-old what real barbarians drank."

"I'll take what I can get," Duncan replied, and everyone started to leave.

Trent paused. "Ever get the feeling like you're forgetting something?"

"Yeah," Chris agreed. "I usually ignore it, and the feeling goes away."

"Like when you buried me alive?" Gwen asked, arms folded.

"Exactly," Chris agreed.

"Where's Courtney?" Duncan asked.

Chris frowned. "Uh, Chef? Where'd we see Courtney last?"

"Last I saw of the bossy chick, she fell through a trap door."

"D'you mean the one over the Spider Room, or the one that leads to the, uh, King of Serpents?"

Duncan was furious. "WHAT?"

Axe and sword out, he ran back into the dungeon, followed by the rest of the cast. Chris opened the door to the room, and Duncan rushed in to the sight of Courtney's butt and legs hanging out of the snake's mouth. She was screaming something horrible, and probably hitting the inside of the snake's mouth, because he was having a hard time swallowing her.

"Hey!" Duncan yelled. "Ugly!"

The serpent spat Courtney out and advanced on Duncan.

He raised his axe and shouted. "Cloigeand Abu!"

He rushed forward to duel the monster. The others stared, startled by use of Gaelic ("the skull to victory"). It was Duncan the Delinquent, after all, how did he learn that?

The fight progressed. Duncan's weapons could not penetrate the Serpent King's scales, and suddenly he was being crushed by the snake's huge coils.

"Crom!"

Chris went on the Confession Cam. "Ooh-kay. That's just plain scary, and yes, I know I'm interrupting the show at its most suspenseful moment. Don't send me any angry e-mails about this."

Miraculously, Duncan managed to free himself from the Serpent King's deadly embrace, and hit it on the nose with the blunt end of his axe. It shook its head, looking a little punch-drunk and retreated.

Duncan turned on Chris. "You are _lucky_ that this is just some lame prop."

Chris tried to laugh it off, but ended up shuddering. Everyone looked at the mangled, covered in snake-spit Courtney.

"Medic!" Chris yelled.

Duncan, bottle of root beer in hand, appeared on the Confession Cam. "A giant dangerous monster like that? Have the producers completely lost their minds?" He took a long pull on the soda. "Still, it would have been a pretty cool way to go: on national television, defending the girl of your dreams."

After everyone had had a chance to clean-up, change, and/or have a meltdown, Chris called everyone to the stage where the Gilded Chris Ceremonies were held. He stood at the podium in his powder-blue tux, looking as somber as he could, and Chef in his magenta ball gown stood behind him, with an expression so sour that not even Chris wanted to cross him.

Chris cleared his throat importantly, picked up a paper and began reading from it. "Due to the injuries Courtney sustained at the fangs of "Set the Old Serpent," there will be no Gilded Chris Ceremony tonight. However, due to the afore-mentioned injuries, Courtney will no longer be able to compete in this challenge. I'm sure that we are all very sorry to see her leave."

Courtney tried to yell at him, but her mouth was bandaged, so that the sound was muffled. Chef carried her over to the Lame-o-Sine and placed her inside. Duncan blew her a kiss, and the car drove off.

Chris adjusted his tie importantly. "And we'll be seeing you next time on-"

A huge shadow appeared over his head. It was the Witch-King riding the Fell Beast. Chris screamed and ran off. The King dismounted, and his devilish steed chased after the fop. The King unrobed, revealing Bridgette sitting on Geoff's shoulders. They took over the closing.

"We'll see you next time," Bridgette began, smiling broadly.

"On Total! Drama! Action!" Geoff finished.

DJ sheepishly came up behind them, wearing Duncan's ruined helmet and waved.

**The End**


End file.
